playin' in the band

One day last week, JP, a friend and co-worker, posed a question to me just as I arrived at work and was taking off my coat. Little did he know that his question was one that had been the topic of discussion many times with many people. Since JP has known me for nearly ten years, he had to have expected a long-winded, overblown answer rather than a typical "yes" or "no." JP's question was straight to the point and innocent enough. But when you ask Josh Pincus a question — well, you're just asking for it.

It seems JP, a fan of Phish, The Grateful Dead and most jam-related bands, was participating in a heated debate on an online jam-band discussion group the previous night. One of his statements ruffled some feathers (not that he was particularly upset). He made a comment regarding the band "Dead and Company." Knowing my devotion to all kinds of music and the fact that I have been married to a proud Dead Head for the past 33 years, he wanted my take on his position. 

So, what was JP's question, already? "If a well-known band is comprised of three original members and continue to tour using the band name (or variation of), are they still that band?" 

I swear, I have discussed this often. More times that you (or other normal people) can imagine. Therefore, I was prepared when I launched into the filibuster answer that JP had to have expected.

I believe this scenario first came up in conversation in 2005 when two remaining members of the band Queen embarked on a world tour fourteen years after the passing of charismatic front man Freddie Mercury. As a longtime Queen fan, I was angered. Not because guitarist Brian May and drummer Roger Taylor still wished to be part of the (*ahem* lucrative) music industry, but by the fact that they were calling themselves "Queen." They were not Queen. Without Freddie Mercury pirouetting at the edge of the stage, his unique vocals soaring into the stratosphere, they would never be Queen. Never. Some Queen fans, however, will disagree. They, of course, are wrong.

The criteria by which a band can call itself that band is a tricky thing. My opinion, of course, is merely that - my opinion. But I'll try to explain my rules.

If a band is comprised of the majority of its original members with supplemental musicians filling in for departed members, that band can still claim itself as the band. However (and that's a big "however"), if any of the members had a solo career during or after the band's major output of work, then they walk a fine line with regards to their rights to the band name. As an example: The Grateful Dead had many keyboard players over the years, but the core members remained the same. Some of those members (Bob Weir, Jerry Garcia, Mickey Hart) enjoyed solo careers — some more successful than others. Since The Grateful Dead never officially broke up while those solo careers existed, the members could reform and disband and still tour under the name "The Grateful Dead." However, when band icon Jerry Garcia passed away in 1995, the remaining members decided to permanently disband. That lasted approximately three years, when three members, along with several hired musicians toured as "The Other Ones," performing songs made famous by the Dead. Several incarnations of "The Other Ones" morphed into what is now known as "Dead and Company." This band, currently on tour and playing sets exclusively of dead songs, consists of Bob Weir, drummers Mickey Hart and Bill Kreutzmann and guitarist (and self-proclaimed Grateful Dead fan) John Mayer. Original bassist Phil Lesh, who toured with a few of the offshoot versions, has now embarked on his own, but still sticks to a Grateful Dead playlist. While Weir did sing lead on many of the Dead's notable songs, Jerry Garcia was the heart and soul of the band. When he died, he, essentially, took the band with him. This current version calling themselves "Dead and Company" are one step away from a cover band.

In 1986, Jeff Lynne, the mastermind behind classical rockers Electric Light Orchestra, called it quits following a performance in Stuttgart, Germany. Lynne continued to produce other artists and even joined supergroup The Travelling Wilburys for two albums. In 1989, ELO's drummer and founding member Bev Bevan, under a licensing agreement with band leader Jeff Lynne. ventured out in a newly-formed band called Electric Light Orchestra Part II. Although asked to participate, Jeff Lynne declined the offer, though he allowed a bastardized and deceptive version of the band's name as the banner under which they would perform. ELO II featured Bevan as the only original member for two years until he recruited original ELO members violinist Mik Kaminski, cellist Hugh McDowell, and bassist Kelly Groucutt. Hardly recognizable figures to anyone but die-hard fans. The band was obviously lacking something without the creative vision of Jeff Lynne. Now, as announced for 2018, Jeff Lynne has decided to tour as something called "Jeff Lynne's ELO," which, aside from keyboardist Richard Tandy, features a bunch of guys that Jeff Lynne knows.

The Beatles never performed as a band again after that impromptu rooftop show chronicled in the film Let It Be. Paul McCartney, undeniably the most successful former Beatle, toured many times after the Fab Four broke up, but never did he call that band "The Beatles." He sang Beatles songs — a lot of Beatles songs — but he was still Paul McCartney. Even Ringo, who assembled many versions of his "All Starr Band," surprisingly never called his band "The Beatles" — which is commendably un-Ringo-like.

The Who, on the other hand, continue to tour with just two original members and a stage full of musicians playing Who songs. Both surviving members — vocalist Roger Daltrey and guitarist Pete Townshend — have enjoyed long solo careers, yet they shamefully parade themselves around as "wild mods," despite having long outgrown that label. It seems when the rent comes due, Daltrey and Townshed dust off their bell-bottoms, fringed vests and Union Jack turtlenecks for an overpriced world tour.

Robert Plant, the one-time lead singer of mighty blues-rockers Led Zeppelin, regularly shoots down inquiries regarding a band reunion. Plant is not the least bit interested. As a solo artist, he has released eleven albums — two more than Led Zeppelin released over their twelve-year career. His current musical output leans toward mellow folk-rock, although his concerts are peppered with Led Zeppelin compositions. He struggles with the high notes, though. Plant has realistically assessed his career and knows, at 69, he is no longer the sinewy sex symbol and rock god he was worshiped as. He has moved on and adapted with the times.

When Led Zeppelin drummer John Bonham died in 1980, Robert Plant considered leaving the music business to become a teacher. I can think of a number of classic rockers who should take his class.

Does that answer your question, JP?

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

***** ***** ***** ***** *****

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I was only telling a lie

My dad was a liar. 

Some of his lies were taken as truth, because, at the time, there was no easy way to fact-check every detail of the stories he told. He told his co-workers that my mother was a school teacher (she wasn't). He told his family that he gave up smoking (he didn't). After my mother died and the opportunity of a new leaf waiting to be turned presented itself, he told a woman he was dating that he was part owner of a supermarket and he was in debt due to the expense of my art school tuition (he wasn't  and he wasn't). He lied, it seemed, as a hobby — the way some people collect stamps or bowl.

One story my father loved to tell was about a no-hitter he saw when he was a kid. He told this story to my brother and me often when we were young. According to my dad, he skipped school to go to a Phillies game. The game turned out to be a rare no-hitter. Afterwards, the city was buzzing with talk about the no-hitter, but my father (who, of course, was a kid at the time) couldn't tell anyone that he was at the game because he would get in big trouble for ditching school. My brother and I were amused by the story. Perhaps there was even a bit of underlying caution in the story — "Don't cut school!" Turns out the only "underlying" about the tale was just plain old "lying." 

See, when this story was told to us (and the many, many times it was repeated), there was no such thing as the internet. It was difficult to quickly check on baseball statistics. One had to own volumes of books chronicling the vast amounts of records from years past. Even then, locating the information would be a task unto itself. But one day, after my father had passed away, I decided to research his claim. Now that I had a computer in my house, this would be a cinch. 

My dad was born in 1926. The closest no-hitter achieved by the Phillies, to that date, was thrown by one Johnny Lush, but that was in 1906, twenty years before my father was born. Plus ol' Johnny tossed that 6-0 gem in Washington Park in Brooklyn, not Philadelphia, against a stunned Trolley Dodgers team. Red Donahue threw a 5-0 no-no against the Boston Beaneaters in Philadelphia, but that was in 1898, before my dad's parents were born. The next Phillies no-hitter was Jim Bunning's perfect game on Father's Day 1964, but by that time, my dad was the father of a seven-year-old (my brother) and a three-year-old (me). His "skipping school" days were long behind him. And that game took place in New York. What I'm trying to say is: My dad made the whole thing up. The whole story! Everything! He probably never even cut school.

As I got older, my mother let me in on the hundreds and hundreds of lies my father told throughout our lives. I developed a keen sensitivity for bullshit and, needless to say, I can spot a liar a mile away.

I had a recent co-worker who, within a week or so of his being hired, told a story during his first "I'm the New Guy" get-to-know-me session with a small contingency of his new colleagues. The informal "get acquainted" conversation bounced around from "where do you live?" to "where are the good lunch spots?" to similarly benign, but superficially friendly, chit-chat topics. Soon, the subject of concerts was introduced. We were a bunch of guys with a twenty-year span separating our ages, but all sharing a love of music. Some of the younger guys related their experiences with Coldplay and Phish. I, of course, told of the many Grateful Dead shows I attended (albeit begrudgingly). Being the oldest of the group, I continued listing the various highlights of nearly forty years of concerts ranging from Alice Cooper and Elton John to Tony Bennett, The Clash, The Dead Milkmen and even Donny and Marie. The new guy chimed in, hoping to bond and offer a bit of camaraderie. Explaining that he grew up in the Philadelphia area and was happy to return after living elsewhere for many years, he waxed with sentimentality about his concert-going days as a rambunctious college student. He expounded on one particular performance at the Mann Center for the Arts, a pastoral, open-air venue situated within the gently sloping lawns of sprawling Fairmount Park. He claimed he attended a show by the venerable soft-rock troubadour James Taylor, he of mellow, Southern California, acoustic-driven tunes sung with a sweet, airy tenor. This guy told us about a typical James Taylor concert featuring a cavalcade of his easy-going hits like "Sweet Baby James," "Fire and Rain" and "Handy Man." Singable, hum-able, non-offense — everything his fans came to hear. 

"Then," our co-worker continued, "he announced that he and the band were taking a short break. And when he came back for a second set, they broke into 'Led Zeppelin's Physical Graffiti' and played the whole fucking album!" 

Our little group stood in silence, our eyes darting back and forth to one another, looking for confirmation that we all heard the same thing.

"Yeah, man, it was awesome!," he elaborated, "James Taylor and his band were fuckin' rockin' out and the crowd was getting pissed off. A lot of people started leaving, but he didn't care, man!" Now the new guy was morphing into Peter Fonda from Easy Rider, punctuating each statement with a drawn-out "man!" 

"My buddies and me were diggin' it, but most of the audience was really bummed. James and his band were wailin', man! Just banging out that Zeppelin!"

The "bullshit meter" in my head was about to explode! The lies were coming at me too fast and furious for me to keep up. Fortunately, our little session broke up and we began our workday. The first thing I did was scour Google for any possible pairing of the search terms "James Taylor" and "Led Zeppelin." My first search yielded nothing, as I had expected. I tried every combination of "James," "Taylor," "Led," "Zeppelin," "Physical," "Graffiti," "concert," "Mann," "Philadelphia." Nothing. Only single mentions of the individual words were returned in the search results. I put my searches aside and got some work done. Later in the day, however, I brought the conversation up to my co-workers once the "new guy" wasn't around. I posed the scenario again, pointing out the various tell-tale faults and inconsistencies in the story.

Would James Taylor, an established singer, risk alienating his fans with such a brazen, uncharacteristic performance? Why would he choose a Led Zeppelin album —  one that clocks in at nearly 90 minutes — to perform, in song sequence? Just supposing, for a second, that this actually did happen — would James Taylor have continued to perform an entire set of music by a band that is out of his genre, while his audience vacates the premises in droves? How come there is nothing about this unusual incident anywhere on any website? Hang on. I'll answer for you. It's because this didn't fucking happen!

I could not grasp the reasoning behind such an outlandish story. Was the "new guy" trying to impress us? Did he really think this was the proper route to take? Did it even occur to him that the facts of his anecdote could easily be debunked with a quick and effortless visit to the internet?

Once we got to know the "new guy," all of these questions were answered. It seemed that this lie was just a preview of what was to come. Two and a half years later, he was escorted off the premises.

Whether he realized it or not, my dad prepared me well.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com